The Missus and the Mortician
by Anti Social Shinigami
Summary: "Life never made me feel as alive as death did." The adventures of a confused and curious ghost kid. The Undertaker had never been so excited to have a dead girl in his guest bed. UndertakerxOC. T for now! *vulgarity/swearing* *trigger warning*
1. Ghosts and Giggles

**A/N: Heyo! Just trying out a new idea I've been thinkin' of for a while! :D I might come back and change this chapter since I basically whipped this up in a day. Tell me if I should continue by reviewing/following/favoriting! *throws a bunch of hearts at you* Have fun reading! It's pretty short!**

**EDITED as of JANUARY 7**

****Suicide Mention****

**...**

When I died it wasn't necessarily some horrible, tear-jerking pity-party. In fact, it was sort of anticlimactic.

It wasn't big. It wasn't dramatic.

It was sad. It was depressing. It was lonely. It was scary.

It basically just sucked a whole fuckin' lot.

Now I didn't die some valiant heroic death. I wasn't saving or sticking up for anyone. I didn't die thinking it was the most honorable thing to do.

I didn't die of a horrible disease. I didn't spend my last days in a hospital bed, breathing in artificial air and living off a life prescribed to me. That way to go sucked according to those I've talked to since my death.

My death was… of my own accord in the end, quite honestly. I committed suicide. It's something I look back on now and regret. But overall it was what I could deal with, which to say that I'm pretty weak. I can't deal with anything. Maybe you'll get to hear more of that story later.

Now lemme rewind, kiddos, and get off the depressing subject. I said "… according to those I've talked to since my death" and no, I'm not in hell like anyone might've believed. When I died it was, as I said, anticlimactic as fuck to begin with. I mean I'm sure if it had happened in a movie there would be some unnecessarily loud music building up in the background before the cut scene and it'd end on "the cliffhanger of the century" but…

You know, I'm getting off track. Big time.

When I died, there was that heart-dropping darkness for a while. A long while. At least a nine months if I were to follow by human time, which I eventually got out of the habit of for a while. It was something that initially made my stomach sink into my stomach because I thought I'd really found out just what was at the end of the road for humans. Darkness. However it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

The darkness was scary at first, and then very quickly became comforting. It was like being surrounded by black downy feathers. I could grab the darkness and hold the darkness. I could become one with the darkness and let my mind become the darkness. The darkness was an old friend and a new friend, one I was completely comfortable with and one that I was discovering more about all the time. That's more than you can do with light, lemme tell you that.

Now this period of darkness is what I like to call my sleeping period. I adjusted to darkness in this time and learned how to see things without my eyes. How to sense things by energy and aura. The darkness seemed to be a thin layer separating me from the living world, allowing me to hear murky conversations and walk through grey make-believes of people.

It was my rest and recovery, my teacher and my friend. It was probably my favorite part of the entire process, which continued long after the darkness.

The sleeping period was followed by what I like to call my dreaming period, because it always seemed too amazing and fantastical to be real. For a while I thought it was simply something I was making up in my head.

That comforting darkness was pulled away from me quickly and rudely. Like somebody coming in and ripping the blankets off of you at six in the morning. And the first thing I opened my eyes to was a gravestone.

_My_ gravestone, I had realized with a lurch of the stomach. Before I could even think of throwing up whatever ghostly contents were inside me I felt eyes on me. When I looked for them I was faced with many pairs. All standing at their gravestones, all looking sad.

"Welcome, dear." I'd heard the one across from me say, a plump elderly woman. Except she wasn't exactly... _there._ She was sort of a transparent mist that looked like it would dissipate if I swung my arm through her.

Which I decidedly didn't do.

My dreaming period was filled with ghosts and the unbelievable. In a large city graveyard, I was surrounded. Whether they be from the 1980s or the 1780s, they were there. I spent about a year in my dreaming period but I don't quite want to have to go through it fully.

I learned the rules, I learned about death, I learned about ghosts, the basic outline of what was to become of me. I learned about fading into the background, about haunting people, about becoming that transparent mist I'd seen, about communicating with the dead. For a while, I didn't know why I was being taught to communicate with the dead until they had to tell me. I wouldn't be with them forever and communication with the dead would be my only way to get the information I would eventually need.

And why wouldn't I be with them forever? Isn't death inevitable and eternal? Well, there's a funny story to that.

Now apparently there's some rule somewhere. Suicide victims, like myself, are apparently a thorn in the Grim Reaper's side because they weren't necessarily _scheduled _to die. I mean, of course they _do_ die. Of course they were ultimately meant to if it happens. But suicide victims carry a sort of element of surprise, apparently.

And that's not necessarily a good thing.

But anyway, because they weren't actually _supposed_ to die, they don't. At least, not for long. Every ghost can choose to be reincarnated. But it can never be in the same time they were alive, for obvious reasons.

Suicide victims don't necessarily get an _option. _

They don't necessarily get _reincarnation_ either.

They get another thing called _resurrection_. Which is the awakening of their soul in a different body of their choosing. Now for the longest time, I was thinking I was gonna get to pimp out my second body, you know? That I was gonna be able to give myself supermodel looks and just strut my stuff wherever I would go.

But that's not quite the case, I was quickly told. I would get to choose from a few handfuls of people that had recently died and inhabit their body, and my body would be in the handful they got to choose from. All bodies provided for me would be suicide victims, as was the rule.

Reincarnation is different from resurrection because reincarnation is the soul of the dead human coming to existence once again inside a newborn baby. Resurrection involves no babies.

When I was called upon for resurrection I was surrounded again by that darkness I'd lived with in the beginning. Except in front of me were dozens of people staring at me. All were my age, all came from different times, all committed suicide.

And the rule was that I was supposed to pick a body from one of them, and a time from another. Because we can't have the same body up and at 'em again if they've just kicked the bucket.

And I did. And it was sort of… sad. Leaving behind my old body that would most likely be riddled with scars and memories.

I spent a lot of time there, which I also won't go into. Most of it was with everyone getting to know each other, getting to know what they would get into. I'll make it short and sweet. I chose the body of a girl my age with long black hair and noticeably big eyes. I chose the time of a boy (I think he said his name was Tommy?) wearing odd clothes, a stupid hat, and a wide smile. 1987.

I was slightly surprised when a shy soul assigned a boy at birth with a face done with pretty makeup politely asked for my body. It took me a second before I was smiling and nodding and talking to her about how what size bras she should get and what size shoe she would be. A boy from the 50s with greased back hair and sunken eyes asked for my time and I gladly accepted.

Four people I immediately felt connected to me. That was more than I could say for when I was living.

Then things started going into motion, which was nerve-wrecking but relieving. One second I was talking avidly with the person whose body I took and the person that took my body, when the darkness gave way to abrupt light. I couldn't even feel shocked much at all before I felt like someone had drugged me. The light turned different colors in my eyes as I swayed, fighting off a feeling of sudden sleepiness. I stared up at the pretty, if not obnoxious, light until my eyelids drooped too much to see past.

When I finally capitulated to sleep it was relieving, as if I'd been forcing my eyes open too long. After a few long moments of seeing that excruciating white behind my eyes it all shut off, as if a light switch had been flipped.

In a single moment, I was struck with the realization that I had to do something. It felt as if there was a magnet pulling the feeling of life after death out of my body. I tried not to panic and attempted to think of something I could do that wouldn't result in me throwing this suddenly very active ball of life inside my dead body. I slowed my breathing and focused on that ball of life, I felt my brain spark with a spiritual effort I'd never dealt with before. I took this thing I never knew existed and was forced to bring it into existence.

Just as I was about to full on panic, I felt my breathing shallow. With on final exhale, my dead breath shook and left my body, a last goodbye to the old carcass I was. With that final breath I felt myself leave with it. As if I'd never really needed a body to begin with. I felt like I was nowhere and everywhere all at once.

I couldn't see anything without eyes, as my mind had been warped into that ball of life, but those 9 months in darkness had taught me well and I could sense every other soul in that place floating about. Some drifted back towards their bodies, others drifted towards their bodies-to-be. And they were all different colors and beautiful.

_This is what these kids deserve,_ I'd thought to myself, _they deserve this weightlessness. _

If I'd had tear ducts then I would've cried happy tears. Because after a lifetime of depression and self hatred and anxiety ended harshly by my own hand and a bullet, this was finally me feeling absolutely fucking _free._ For once I wasn't thinking about what my parents were doing or what my siblings were up to because this was about _me_ for once.

Life never made me feel as alive as death did.

And so into the body that was new to me and mine to keep for now, I felt that breath come to me again and with it a new kind of life returned to me. I closed my new eyes and was surprised to feel tears falling down my face. I turned to that shy soul now in my body, clutching her hands over her heart and crying happy, happy tears.

I reached over and pulled her in, sobbing with her like a war had ended. And, in a sense, a war had in fact ended. A war inside myself, one I'd lived with ever since I was younger and decided popping pills was my new favorite pastime. I sat there, feeling my breathing even out, and pecked her and my old body on the head in farewell. That magnet feeling returned again and my eyes squeezed shut as I felt her disappear. It took a few moments of darkness until I felt a tug at my soul.

My ears opened up to everything around me.

Birds were chirping, a large bell was ringing, and I could hear city life. It wasn't my old city life sounds. For some reason, the cars sounded different, the air felt clearer, the yelling was in voices I had never heard before.

And I was brand new.

"Um." I heard a distinctly male voice utter smartly, and then shuffling.

And then an even smarter statement from the same voice, "What?" The voice had a nice roughness to it as if it'd been used to tell stories upon stories.

_Maybe this life around I could be more graceful and polite. I won't cuss as much, I'll learn something new. It'll be great._

I opened my eyes to an off black cloak and a shovel.

Well, more specifically, someone was wearing the off black cloak, but I didn't care enough to fully register their existence yet. In that moment I was more happy to be alive than I had ever been.

"Oh my stars…" I mumbled to myself. Taking an unnecessarily long whiff of the air around me and frowning a bit in contemplation when I smelled horses and dirt. The atmosphere around me was grey and foggy.

_C'mon guys, this is the 1980s! Where are the boomboxes? Where's Michael Jackson?_ I thought to myself, _This is sort of a shit welcoming party now isn't it?_

I stiffened a little, my happiness ruined with doubt, _Wait there weren't an abundance of horses in the 80s, were there?_

"Eheh… are you okay, madam?" The cloak asked.

I looked up into a large smile, "Not… really?" To be honest, I wasn't quite sure.

Before he could say anything else I had to ask, "What's with all those horses?" I pointed at the dirt street beyond a fence I'd found filled with horse drawn carriages and oddly dressed people.

I'm pretty sure I heard the character stifle a giggle, "They're basic means of transportation, aren't they?"

"Uhm… what about like… cars and shit?" I asked, truly curious as to why the fuck this guy thought I was being funny. And also not noticing that I'd totally just cussed without meaning to.

_Fuck the whole "New Life's Resolution"._

"They're not as common, I suppose~" The man sing-songed.

I huffed and furrowed my eyebrows, whacking him on the knee, "Oi! You pullin' my leg? This _is _the 1980s right? Are you all some part of a reenactment? I'm not an idiot!"

The man frowned for a moment before snorting and giggling for a long time. He clutched his stomach and leaned back so far I thought he'd fall. His giggling turned into loud laughter very quickly, startling me back into a gravestone.

"Hey! Wait, wait, wait! What's so funny?!" I yelled over his tremendous cackling. I ran a hand through my new black hair and marveled at how soft it was for a moment before my hand accidentally touched some sort of material.

I turned around to glare at the gravestone and saw a vaguely familiar and stupid hat perched atop it. I scrutinized the carving:

**Thomas "Tommy" Jones**

**1870-1887**

**May he rest in peace**

I frowned for a moment and looked to the hat again. From the gravestone, to the hat, to the gravestone, to the hat, until _finally._

_1887?_

_Wait._

_Fucking…_

_HELL NO._

_FUCK THIS._

"Oh my fucking _HELL._" I nearly screeched, causing the man to finally stop laughing. He was wiping the tears of laughter streaming down his face with a large grin.

"M-my dear, it's 1887~!" He said, snorting at the end and giggling some more.

"I collected that." I said, my eyes wide and my mind buzzing. I'm pretty sure I stared at nothing in particular while the strange, tall man giggled above me.

"Hey, guy. I don't know who you are but keep this in mind, never trust a fucking ghost named Tommy."

**...**

**A/N: Admittedly, that was sloppy. But whatevs B) I hope to have the next chapter out soon~!**


	2. Drowning and Dead People

**A/N: Chapter two! :D Thank you to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited/read this it means a lot to me and makes my day~! **

**I realized that there is a ****_lot _****of cussing in this only ****_after _****I wrote it, so expect more of that in the future and sorry if you don't like cussing D:**

**ONWARDS!**

**EDITED as of JANUARY 7th**

**...**

After definitely not bothering to explain the warning I'd given the dude, I slumped against the gravestone. Fully collecting just how much utter _shit_ I was in.

In the midst of the millions of lightning speed thoughts going on behind my furrowed eyebrows, I realized that I was indeed leaning against a _gravestone_. The fuck? I looked to my right and left and saw more rows of gravestones. I lazily slumped to the side and saw more gravestones past the man that still hadn't moved.

I guess it made sense for me to be in a graveyard, I was pretty much dead I supposed. And the gravestone I _did_ end up waking up on was a pretty self explanatory situation. I was picking up where that douche, Tommy, left off.

What I wanted to know was, why the ever-loving _fuck_ was this tall guy in this graveyard? With a _shovel_, no less.

"Yo, Chuckles." I barked, possibly a bit too harshly, but I had excuses. He responded to the quick-thought nickname. I nearly snorted at how inappropriately adorable this grown man looked turning his head to look at me with his hair whipping out around him.

Now that I mention it, he did have quite long, oddly colored hair. It was this silvery-white sorta color that fell like a waterfall down past his ass. His silly bangs covered his eyes, showing only his nose, a cheshire grin, and a defined scar running over his left cheek.

"You are one kooky dude," I said, which only seemed to make him grin wider, "I've decided I like it." He chuckled quietly at this.

He didn't seem to be planning on saying anything quite yet and I didn't want him to have the time to start thinking of questions to ask, so I just said the first thing on my mind, "You lootin' graves or what? Afternoon doesn't seem like the best time to do that, eh?"

He frowned a little, but it wasn't like an _actual_ frown. It was a contemplative one. The kind where you purse your lips and pout a little in the process? Yeah, that one.

"I would _never_!" He gasped over-dramatically, his grin returning, "Not in the afternoon at least." He finished with a giggle.

I felt my lips quirk a little at that one, and I rolled my eyes while smiling, "So why are you here? And uh… how long have I been here? Wait, what exactly happened? Who are you? Where am I? Wh—"

"Easy, now~ don't hurt yourself." He interrupted me. His smile dropped a little bit and he seemed to be contemplating something before he shrugged to himself, "Follow me~ tell me what's going on and I'll tell you all I know and all you need to know…"

I frowned a little bit and furrowed my eyebrows, moving myself to get up.

"… for a price." He finished.

I immediately slumped back down, "_What?!_ Hey, listen, Chuckles!" I pointed at him harshly, "I just woke up here and I don't have any money for you!"

"I have no desire for the queen's mo—"

"Then I sure as hell won't be stripping for you, touching you, or screwing you for a wee bit of decent information, you perverted old man! Holy shit, I wasn't expecting the objectifying of women and overall _grossness_ to be so horrible right off the bat!" I interrupted him quickly, with a scowl. I could feel myself going red in the face whether from anger or from the mere notion of this guy thinking I'd sell myself to him.

The man, however, didn't even seem offended by anything I'd just said and within seconds of me stopping had burst out laughing. I sweatdropped.

He didn't even laugh in some regular way, he was _vibrating with laughter._ His cackles echoed throughout the entire graveyard and in my head. He stumbled a little bit and grasped onto the gravestone next to me, bending over and clutching his stomach.

I spun my body to look at him, the scowl turned into a frustrated pout and I was red now for an entirely different reason. Embarrassment. Because _apparently_ I thought that me using my body as payment was a much more serious option than he did.

He eventually quieted down a little into childlike giggles to himself, leaning on the gravestone and now facing me, "Alright, you got me!" He exclaimed.

I frowned in confusion, "Uh… wh-what." I'd sorta zoned out staring at him.

"The price! The price was a good laugh, you silly! I was going to have you make me laugh~!" He sang, still chuckling a little.

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped, "Oh. _Oh_. Fuck, sorry."

I suddenly felt overwhelmingly embarrassed and I hadn't even had my second first steps yet. This was going swimmingly.

At the thought of the word '_swimmingly_' I suddenly felt an overwhelming explosion of _something_ in my lungs. My body threw itself forward as I started hacking and coughing up what looked like…

_Water? What the hell?_

The strange man had immediately stopped laughing and was now crouching over me with a concentrated frown, "I had wondered why your clothes were drenched…"

I furrowed my eyebrows as I coughed up another bit of water, realizing that my clothes felt rather uncomfortably heavy and cold. What was I even wearing? I guess it would've been whatever the last soul in this body died in so…

_She drowned herself? Wow, that's fucking… brutal. Jeez._

I was suddenly distracted from my current outfit when my breathing got shallow and I half-collapsed further to the ground. I felt cold hands wrap around my jerking body and pull me up again, but my body was _so tired_, I didn't _wanna_ be sitting up.

He firmly patted my back as if I were a baby, which embarrassed me for obvious reasons. Here I was coughing up water and looking like a drowned cat in front of some stranger who's willingly helping me.

"Oh dear… Okay, madam, I'm going to need you to stop coughing for a little bit and lie on your back, mmkay?" He said this gently, calmly, and slowly as if he were talking to a child. I wondered for a moment how this giggly, odd man had transformed into some professional caretaker in under 30 seconds.

I nodded my head, because my throat was too rough to be able to respond to anything. He helped me lay myself on the ground and I struggled to keep from coughing, feeling the water bubbling in my throat trying to force itself out. It was possibly one of the worst feelings, like when you're in class and have to cough but there's a test going on and you don't wanna be loud. It's sorta like that except times 100 and with the possibility of me dying.

Immediately I was pulled out of my thoughts and my eyes widened when I saw him pull his face closer to mind and I fully realized what this guy was going to do. I gripped onto his arm with a force hard enough to bruise in order to prepare myself.

When his lips connected with mine it felt much warmer than his hands, and then uncomfortably warm when his breath forced itself down my throat and into my lungs. It was an oddly intimate gesture seeing my chest rise with air that wasn't mine, but before I could make anything of it I was noticing the scent of his breath. It smelled of cinnamon sugar for some reason. Then I was noticing that I could catch a glimpse of green from behind his bangs when he was this close... was that glimmering emerald color his eye?

I could hear him inhale through his nose and then breathe out into me again, this time beckoning an uncomfortable tickling and bubbling feeling in the bottom of my lungs. He continued this process, his hands coming to support himself around my shivering body. One time… two times… three ti—

And then I head butted him accidentally as I jerked forward and coughed up the remaining liquid. Once done, I flopped back down and rubbed at my forehead, limply reaching up and swatting his face with a weak, "Sorry, man."

He giggled quietly, however, and wasn't angry. After a few moments I felt my eyes drooping and I wanted to smack myself for falling asleep so easily after I just woke up for the second first time.

"H-hey, sorry for makin' you make out with me, that was rude." I rasped a little bit, trying to keep myself awake.

He laughed, "It was my pleasure, madam!"

I blushed at that and pointed at him, "You shush, there was nothing even slightly pleasurable or attractive about that situation. Now I'm just tired and my throat hurts." I didn't even wanna bring up how much it sounded like I'd just given him a blowjob.

"Then sleep~" He said, with a grin that seemed a bit kinder than the ones I'd seen originally. Though I couldn't entirely tell with his eyes covered.

I sighed, "Ugh, fine… but _no molesting_ me while I sleep."

I heard the fading cackling sounds of his laughter as I closed my eyes and drifted into blackness.

**...**

When I woke up I wasn't quite sure if I was dead again or not.

The single reason I had to wonder, even though I was breathing and had a pulse, was because I woke up in a coffin. _A coffin_. Like, that ought to raise a few questions. _Especially_ since I managed to pop the lid off and found only more coffins.

An entire fucking room of coffins.

I had to wonder what that guy had let happen to me while I was conked out. Speaking of, I didn't even know his _name._ He didn't even know _my name_. Hell, _you_ don't even know what my name is yet! This is all just a very ill-mannered gathering, now isn't it?

"Hello?" I called, hearing my voice echo far beyond the… "parlor" I was in.

"Chuckles?" I called again, straining my ears for any sort of sound beyond the creaking of the building.

"Hello~" I heard, alarmingly close behind my ear.

I flinched and swung my arm backwards reflexively and yelped when I felt a someone catch it. I tried best to turn and see who did and was relieved to find Chuckles, who was smiling widely despite the fact that I'd just tried to whack him in the face.

_How did he even see that behind his bangs? _

"There you are!" I said, feeling the tightness in my gut relax. I still didn't know the guy but I guess I was more comfortable with the guy that saved my life than I was with him just leaving me for someone else to find.

I actually found it rather touching that he'd taken the time to carry me to… wherever this was. Although he had decided to keep me in a coffin, I guess I didn't really see anything else as comfortable around here to lay on.

"Here I am~!" He responded, letting go of my arm and moving around to stand in front of me, I noticed a tray of random flasks and beakers with an old chipped teapot balanced on one of his hands. He set them down on a nearby desk and leaned back on a rickety old chair behind it.

I frowned a little bit and decided to stay seated in the coffin, not trusting myself to be able to walk in my new body too gracefully. These legs were much longer than my old ones, my knees would probably knock together or I'd trip over my own feet.

"So who are you, Chuckles? And where am I?" I asked, messing with my hair and grimacing a little at how uncomfortable it was sitting with its long length.

"I'm a mortician~! This is my parlor, where I provide specially made coffins! The basement is where I work on my _guests_. You may call me Undertaker~" He said this all very proudly, as if he were quite happy with what he did. Which honestly was sort of adorable, if not creepy.

_Wait he made all these coffins? By himself? He's gotta be fuckin' built! Damn._ I cleared my head of those thoughts quickly before my face could turn too pink or my eyes could travel any more freely across him.

"What kind of a name is Undertaker, hmm?" I asked, shifting awkwardly to sit criss-cross apple sauce. I split my hair in the back and moved it over my shoulders, trying to mess with the bangs which seemed to be an inch too long.

"A self-explanatory one." He answered with a widening grin, "And what about your name, madam?" He asked.

I opened my mouth to answer and then shut it quickly as a sense of dread filled my chest. I stared at the ground and furrowed my eyebrows, "Uh… gimme a minute." I said, maybe a bit too quietly for him to hear.

_I can't remember my name, I can't remember my name, I can't remember my name._ I thought over and over again, rocking back and forth a little bit as if to get my brain going.

_Don't panic. Just think! Um… Amy? No. Not at all. Ashley? No no no. It starts with an A, doesn't it? Or does it start with a C? Fuck, fuck. How did I fucking forget my _name._ I'm so stupid!_

"Hmm~? Are you alright?" I heard him ask.

"ALTHEA." I said, much louder than I meant to say it. I exhaled in relieve and sat up straighter, "B-but you can call me Thea." I fixed, trying to act a bit more cool about it and failing horribly.

"Interesting name~" He said standing up from his chair to hand me a beaker of tea. I raised an eyebrow at it but decided it couldn't be horrible.

"Could say the same for you, Mr. _Undertaker._ Do you have any sugar?"

He grabbed a tin and opened it to a supply of sugar cubes. I grabbed six and proceeded to dunk five of them into the beaker, putting the other in my mouth. I looked up again into Undertaker's face. His mouth was twitching as if he was trying to keep himself from laughing.

"What?" I asked around the sugar cube.

He snorted and burst into a small fit of giggles, "You're a fan of sugar then?" He asked, and I realized what exactly he was going on about.

I flushed and moved the sugar cube to the other side of my mouth, "I happen to like sweets, sue me!" I said with a frustrated huff, causing him only to giggle harder. It was sort of cute, quite honestly, and I wasn't sure why exactly I kept thinking that. In general he was pretty eerie looking.

"Alright, alright, settle down…" I grumbled, patting him off to his perch behind the desk, "So what exactly happened as far as you know?" I asked, squinting my eyes suspiciously. I had no idea what I looked like.

_Oh lord, I'm gonna find myself practicing expressions in front of a mirror at one point, aren't I?_

"Well~ I was simply finishing up the job of departing with one of my guests, burying them that is, and got _distracted._ When I turned around _you_ were suddenly there, and _I_ was suddenly very confused! Ehehe~" He said, cocking his head to the side with an unasked question.

There was a pause in the conversation that lasted a few moments before I realized I was supposed to _answer _the unanswered question as to how I got in that graveyard.

"Ah… yes. Um, well… You are, indeed, a mortician, right?" I asked, trying to think about just how I should go about this without sounding insane.

"Indeed I am." He said, and if I could see his eyes I'm sure he would've been raising an eyebrow. He connected his fingers in a steeple and he propped his feet up onto the desk.

"Uh… well, then you must know quite a bit about death I'm sure…" I continued on, biting my lip in thought. I wanted to be a bit tactful about this, I couldn't exactly go about telling him I was hella dead and all that had happened like it was old news. But then again, maybe I could. Surely he couldn't be as understanding as a ghost or the Grim Reaper himself, but he seems like he's a pretty good guy.

Undertaker, for some reason, snorted as if he had some sort of inside joke but nodded, "I do happen to know a bit about death~"

"Then uhm…"

_I could probably just tell this dude and the worst that could happen is that he'd laugh at me_.

I mean, for some reason, despite his creepy exterior, I felt I could trust Undertaker. He seemed like the type who had many secrets and therefore _kept_ many secrets. Then there was something about his smile that told me nary a secret got past it without a very, _very_ good reason.

"What if I told you that… uh… wh-what if I told you th-that… _I'm-dead-but-not-really-dead-just-sort-of-second-alive?_" I spat out very quickly with my eyes squinted shut, I flinched when I heard him ease his feet from off of the desk.

He didn't laugh like I'd expected him to, he simply stopped smiling for a moment as if in deep thought, "Hmm~ interesting…"

_Wait, so… he believes me?! What kind of a nut job is this g—?!_

"How are you possibly 'second alive'?" He asked, seeming entirely too serious for my liking. I mean _I_ barely took it seriously, so why was he?

"W-Well, I died for reasons I'll keep to myself. But died in a specific way which caused me to get a second chance at life according to the ghosts." I explained before clapping a hand over my mouth and widening my eyes.

"Ghosts~?" He asked, smiling a bit now, although it was a bit more creepily than any smile before.

"By ghosts I mean—!" I tried explaining.

"I think you meant exactly what you implied, my dear~" He smiled wider now, and seemed to be fixing me with an intense gaze behind his bangs.

I blushed a bit at how much I'd messed up and how unabashedly Undertaker was outright _gazing into my soul, like what the hell. _

"Explain, please." He requested, propping his chin up onto his hands. I noticed a floppy top hat sitting above his head and tried to resist wanting to take it.

"Well I woke up from death in a graveyard after spending awhile in a lot of dark shit - which was pretty relaxing - and had the ghosts in the graveyard teach me a few things that I'm not entirely sure I can still do. But I guess I could test it out later… hmm… _Anyway,_ then I was taken to a place where I was to choose a time different from mine and a body different from mine. This body is not my original body, so if you see me messing with it, I'm simply trying to figure this odd soul-carrier out." I started explaining, saying most everything in a single breath.

Undertaker laughed quietly at my soul-carrier comment but stayed silent to let me continue.

"I chose the year 1987, which is what I was talking about earlier, from some ghost boy named Tommy, who's a real asshole. I woke up on his grave due to me taking his time, and realized that he had, in fact, _lied to me_ and was actually from 1887. The reason I started choking, I _assume,_ is because the girl whose body this once belonged to drowned, therefore this body was affected once I was put in it." I took a deep breath after my recap, and realized just how fucked up things had gotten in the timespan of me being alive again.

First, I was lied to. Second, I was drowning on land.

"_Now_, it's gonna be way harder for me to figure out how shit goes on around here because I don't know as much about it. I'm probably gonna have to wear a lot of huge, puffy dresses or some shit and find a job somewhere. Oh my _stars_, where the _fuck_ am I gonna stay even? What jobs are even _available_ to women at this point?! Oh that's right, pretty much _NONE_ because there's a large amount of daft _shit-head_ men who refuse to acknowledge a woman's rights! And don't even get me started on how women are _treated_ in this time period. I'm gonna have to chop off some man's _shrimp-dick_, I swear to—!"

I was interrupted by Undertaker's insanely loud laughter, seems he was back to normal again. He clapped his hands together and then banged a fist down onto the desk, making the tray of tea jump. I took the moment to calm down from my angry panicking and breathe slowly, letting the angry red flush fade from my face.

When Undertaker finally stopped laughing, wiping tears from his face, he seemed to have made a decision, "You can stay here~!"

**...**

**A/N: THAT was a roller coaster. So we've figured out our character's name is Althea and that she gets very stressed under pressure. And it also seems that Undertaker is ****_very _****interested in the fact that Althea's, you know, ****_dead_**** and all.**

_**I wonder why~ ;)**_

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading and have a wonderful day!**


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